The Parting
by Svenja The Strange
Summary: A bittersweet little Robb/Jon oneshot.Robb and Jon meet on the eve of battle. Please be nice, English is not my native language!Please review! Rated T to be sure...


Note: Hello again, Everybody. This is a bittersweet little Oneshot I wrote after listening to "The Parting Glass" interpreted by the Band "The Wailin' Jennys". As you'll probably notice yourself while reading it, the story is set somewhere around the end of Season one in a universe where Jon has never left his brothers side. Hope you enjoy! I felt a bit gloomy yesterday. And yeah, I know the titles not very resourceful, really. :-D

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George. I don't think he fancies giving it to me.

The Parting

A fine veil of early morning mist crept surreptitiously silent over the dewy grass and floated through the long rows of tents that were decorated with various banners and emblems of all kinds of houses that had answered Robb Starks call to arms and rushed to his help in the campaign against King Joffrey to avenge the wrongful execution of Lord Eddard. The sun had not yet set on the eastern horizon and the dim morning sky was encased by a wispy foulard of white haze. Robb watched the shining pearls of dew on the grass turning the tip of his heavy leather boots a few shades darker as he slowly walked through his camp, deeply lost in heavy thoughts. Another day on the battlefield, another day of fighting, another day on which he had to make decisions that would most likely cost the lives of many good men. Since his father had died and he had started this bloody fight over power and domination, driven by the irresistible longing for vengeance, everything had started to fall apart and, although this was something never to be uttered aloud, he started to feel it was all beginning to weigh too heavy, to grow too big on him, to devour his strength and his resolution. He had no desire to be a king and no wish for a crown and still the men had proclaimed him king in the north and the only lord they wanted to bow their heads to and suddenly people met him with respectful greetings of "Your Grace" and men twice his age dropped on their knees before him. How had it gotten this far? Robb heaved a heavy sigh and filled his lungs with the cold, clear air of a morning that was herald to what promised to be a beautifully sunny late summer day in a country so much warmer and lovelier than the harsh north, his home. Before the day was done, the green grass would be sullied with the blood of hundreds of dead and dying men and the quaint silence of nothing but whispering winds and birdsongs would be broken by the cries of the crippled and mortally wounded. A sudden, violent homesickness pressed his heart with a cold hand and he quickened his pace, the rustling sound of his feet and his slow breathing being the only sounds in the otherwise quiet camp. Soon the whole scene would be up and bustling with busy men saddling their horses, sharpening their swords and being helped into their armours. He reached the grey and white tent, adorned with the sigil of his own house, entered quickly without announcement and found Jon standing in the far corner of the small, candlelit room. He was wearing nothing but his trousers and his longish black curls were damp as he turned away from the iron bowl over which he had apparently been washing his face only moments ago.

"Morning." He greeted, his naturally long and gloomy face lighting up prettily at the unexpected sight of Robb, whose eyes lingered on the trained, wiry muscled upper body for a few moments, before meeting the dark eyes smiling at him through girlishly thick lashes. Robb felt his lips twitch into a wry grin despite himself.

"Good Morning." he answered, feeling his chest cramping painfully as his attention slipped back into the reality of the moment and reminded him of why he had come. "I'm sorry, it's early but I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

For a moment they stood in the comfortable silence of long lasting intimacy. Robb wasn't sure what to say. They had been in similar situations increasingly often lately and he had always found the right words, but it felt different today somehow. He had awoken strangely unsettled and sweaty this night after only few hours of very troubled sleep and although he could not remember anything, he had the feeling that he had been haunted by a particularly disturbing dream. After that, he had been lying awake, trying to get a grip on that vague, nameless terror that was slowly but surely creeping under his skin with, bony long fingers, pulling his heart in a tight unyielding grip. He tried to remember what he had told Jon the last time he had visited his tent in the early morning hours on a day right before battle to exchange a few word with him in private before the other men would be around them, their alert eyes and ears attentive to every weakness, every crack in the shining golden façade of a king Robb had managed to build ever since they had first bent their knees before him. Usually they talked through the plan briefly, casually talking about killing and captivating like there was not the slightest doubt that the plan would be successful, followed by a brief embrace a faked smile and an airy joke. Today Robb couldn't bring himself to act the usual way. A dark shadow of foreboding clouded his thoughts and feelings and somehow he felt horribly afraid for his half brothers life, so he walked over to Jon, bringing his hand to rest on the bare, hot skin of the other mans shoulder and raising his eyes to meet his surprised gaze.

"Jon, please be careful today." It broke out of him, before he could stop the words.

The men just looked into each others' eyes deeply, and for a moment they lost each other in their intense gazes before Jon nodded slowly, gripping the hand that was resting on his shoulder by the wrist. It was bordering on the supernatural, Robb thought, how Jon had always been able to understand him, able to know and understand his feelings fully by just looking at him, by catching every implication and mood so intuitively that they needed almost no words at all. It was how both had always known they were more than just brothers, that more than blood connected them. They had never needed to talk about it, never needed to talk about how they loved each other but how they could never be together because no one could ever know how they felt. It was their unspoken secret, a bond stronger than every feeling any of them had ever known. Stronger than death, maybe.

The faint shimmer of candlelight reflecting on Jons full lips, so close he could have placed a kiss on them by just taking one step forward made Robb think of the one time they had nearly given in to the temptation, nearly turned those silent feelings into a promise they both weren't allowed to make. They had been so close to kissing, it was still a mystery to Robb how they had been able to restrain themselves. But they had. And they did again as Jon took Robbs hand that he still held by the wrist, and gently forced it up so that it came to rest on his cheek. The sensation of the warm skin under the stubbles of Jons black beard sent a pleasant shiver over Robbs back and they stood in silence again for what seemed to be ages. But again, like both of them knew it had to be, Jon let go of Robbs wrist and he broke the contact, stepping away from the man he loved so much he couldn't decide if it drove him mad with sheer happiness or the utmost anguish. His heart was beating violently and he felt like he had been taken to the edge of his self-control, which was so dangerously close to falling apart that he turned to leave without embracing Jon and wishing him luck for the forthcoming battle. As he turned around on his way out, he saw him standing there, still bare chested, looking after him with weary but understanding eyes. And Robb left.

There was hardly any time for another goodbye in the morning, so when they met again, it was on horseback, fully armoured and about to ride their separate ways into battle, leading troops into two different directions that would crash into the Lannisters army from two different sides, trapping them between their own army and squelching them between their fierce attacks. They rode side by side for a moment, and when it was time to part, they reached out and grabbed each others forearm with strong hands. Robb had to gulp down the despair that was surging up and outplayed the burning in his eyes, caused by an unbearable tearing in his chest, with a grim smile that was answered by Jon with a solemn nod of his head. Then Jon turned his horse, and, followed by a whole army of riders, rode until he disappeared over the nearby hills.

The picture of the man he loved, shaking hands with him in the sunlight on a beautiful late summer day, his black curls moved slightly by a warm breeze that made the treetops above them rustle and spread moving shadows over his pale face and dark eyes, the image of him nodding, a wry smile on his lips but a silent sorrow in his eyes, the memory of his slender figure disappearing on the horizon burned deeply and inextinguishably into Robbs mind. It would torture and at the same time caress his sore thoughts and his broken heart every night for the rest of his life. But when they lay the unmoving, the maimed and mangled body of Jon Snow down on the cold ground before him later that day, his sight went black and just for a gracious, merciful moment he thought he had died himself.


End file.
